Saving Southerlyn
by DocCarter
Summary: Sequel to Stalking Serena. The detectives of SVU catch Serena's case.
1. This is Your Wakeup Call

"Saving Southerlyn" by Anna

Rating: PG-13 for language and violence

Category: Drama/Crossover with SVU

Pairings: None, Olivia/Serena friendship

Disclaimer: Fanfiction is for fun, kids

Archive if you like (and if you don't like, let me know why), but drop me a line first, please.

* * * * * *

Chapter 1 – This Is Your Wake-Up Call

Elliot Stabler sat on the beach, enjoying a cold beer while his kids played nearby.  Dickie and Lizzie ran past him, shrieking.  Kathy sat under an umbrella and paged through a magazine.  He looked up as he heard the buzz of a megaphone.  "Everyone out of the water, please.  Detective Stabler, this means your family.  Everyone out of the water please, especially the Stablers."  

The lifeguard continued to honk his megaphone regularly.

"Elliot."

Elliot blinked his eyes open.  "Huh?"  

Kathy handed him his cell phone and promptly fell asleep again.

"Stabler," he said groggily.

"It's Cragen.  We've got a hot case."  He rattled off an address.

"I'll be there."  Elliot flipped his cell phone shut, stared at it for a moment, then checked the clock.  The red twelve glowed steadily in the dark.  Yawning, he swung his legs from under the covers and went into the bathroom to wash up.  He kissed his wife on his way out.

When he pulled up to the crime scene in a squad car he was still yawning, but it was only his body's automatic reflex to the time.  His mind was clear; it always was after a late-night call from Cragen.  Such a call could only mean one of two things: either something had happened to his partner, or a rape had been reported.  

Olivia was waiting for him, standing next to the taped-off area.  "Hey," she greeted him.

"Hey.  What happened?"  He ducked under the tape, noted his partner's unusually grave face.  He glanced towards the ambulance parked a few meters away.  "Is the vic still alive?"

"Yeah."  Olivia motioned for Elliot to move farther away from the gathering crowd.  This close to midnight, people were still out.  "She's one of ours.  An ADA," she said quietly.  

"Jesus," said Elliot.  "Who?"

Olivia's head tipped in the direction of the nearby gurney.  "Serena Southerlyn."

Elliot searched his memory.  "Southerlyn…doesn't she work with McCoy?"  They all knew the occasionally brash EADA and had dealt with his office from time to time.  

"She's his assistant.  She handled one of our cases a few months ago after Alex…"  Olivia didn't say the rest.  She took a breath and seemed to shake a few memories loose.  "You good to canvass the scene?  I'm gonna ride with her."  

Elliot nodded, and joined the CSU officers, who were carefully picking through a long, dark alley.  "Whaddaya got?"

Slowly, Olivia approached the ambulance.  The paramedics were still hovering over the woman on the stretcher.  One side of Southerlyn's face was a purpling bruise, and cut on her forehead had been cleaned and butterflied.  Olivia showed the ADA her badge and introduced herself in a soft voice.  "Miss Southerlyn, I'm Detective Olivia Benson.  I need to ask you a few questions."

Southerlyn nodded mutely.  She flinched slightly as her gurney clattered into the ambulance.  Olivia turned to a paramedic.  "How bad is it?"

The young man made a sour face.  "Hit her in the face a few times.  Maybe a mild concussion.  Didn't do anything else except for the…you know…"  He looked embarrassed.

"Thanks," said Olivia, and climbed into the rig.  She offered Southerlyn her hand, and the other woman gripped it tightly.  Her eyes were red from crying, but her face was otherwise blank.  She stared straight up at the ambulance's ceiling until they reached the hospital.  

Olivia followed the paramedics into the antiseptic hallways, listening to them rattle off stats to a doctor, keeping one eye on the ADA.  The younger woman was subdued, permitting the doctor's ministrations to her body, answering monosyllabically.  Olivia stepped in.  "We're going to need a rape kit," she informed the doctor, who nodded and left.  Olivia turned to Southerlyn.  "After the doctor examines you, we're going to need you to give a formal statement."

"I know," said Southerlyn in a voice so soft, Olivia almost missed the words completely.  In a stronger voice, she said, "I know the procedure.  I just want to get it over with."

* * * * * *

Jack McCoy sat on the witness stand, staring out at a sea of nameless faces.  The judge, a nightmarish cross between the Honorable H. Seligman and a turkey, turned to him and spoke in a booming voice.  "Is that your final answer, Mr. McCoy?"

"Your Honor, I'm afraid I can't answer the question," said McCoy.  The judge gobbled furiously, picked up a glass of water, and threw it at McCoy.  He ducked, and the people in the jurors' box booed loudly.

"John James McCoy, I find you in contempt, and sentence you to a day's hard labor."  The judge pounded his gavel.

Jack was startled into wakefulness by the sound of his phone ringing.  He groped around on the nightstand for it, eventually finding the receiver and pressing it to his ear.  "McCoy," he growled.

"Jack, it's Arthur.  There's been an incident."

The drive to the hospital had gone by in a blur, the cool weather biting into him as he illegally passed cars on his motorcycle.  Jack marched up to the nurse's desk, flashed his ID.  "I'm here to see Serena Southerlyn."  The nurse pointed him to a room down the hall, where a uniform was standing outside of the door.  He used his ID to get into the room, and stopped short at the ugly sight of his assistant.  She and the detective with her looked up as he entered.

"Hi, Jack," said Serena, looking like she wanted to throw up.

"Mr. McCoy, I'm sorry to meet you again under these circumstances," said Olivia Benson, stepping forward and neatly inserting herself between Jack and his assistant.  "My partner and I are handling Miss Southerlyn's case."

He shook hands briefly with her, glanced over to Serena.  "What happened?"

"If I could ask you to wait outside for just a few more minutes…"  

He could see that it wasn't really a suggestion, so he did as Benson asked, pacing while he waited.  After what felt like an hour, the door opened, and Benson emerged, notebook in hand.  Jack fairly pounced on her.  "Tell me what happened."

"Miss Southerlyn was attacked at approximately ten-thirty last night.  She said her assailant was a man who'd been bothering her before, a Brian Pooler?"

Jack's eyes widened fractionally.  "Yes, he was harassing her.  Serena thought he just wanted a date…"  

Benson nodded and made a note.

"What, exactly, did he do to her?" demanded Jack.

"He beat her, and he raped her," said Benson candidly, then changed topics.  "Did you notice anything unusual around the office?  Notice any strangers hanging around, receive any phone calls, anything out of the ordinary?"

Jack shook his head.  "He stopped bothering her about a month ago, after he had to be escorted from the building.  Brian Pooler?  Are you sure?"

"That's Miss Southerlyn's assertion."  Seeing that Jack was visibly distracted, Benson forced him to focus on her.  "Mr. McCoy, I understand that you're very concerned for Miss Southerlyn, but I don't think she's in any shape for visitors right now."

Biting back a retort, Jack nodded once, gruffly.  "Have they done a rape kit yet?"

"It's being taken to the lab as we speak."  Benson looked over his shoulder, and Jack turned to see another, slightly disheveled, detective striding towards them.  "Mr. McCoy, you remember my partner, Detective Stabler," said Benson by way of introduction.  The two men shook hands, and then Stabler's attention was focused on his partner.  Jack listened to them intently as they shared their information.

"What'd you get?" asked Benson.

"CSU found some footprints, some blood.  Nobody saw anything, but a few people said they heard a scream around the time she was attacked.  You?"

"He left his semen inside her.  Multiple contusions on her face and a mild concussion.  But she fought back.  She's got fibers from his clothing all over her, and—get this.  She bit him hard enough to draw blood."

Stabler smiled slightly at that.

Olivia continued.  "We've got a lot to work with.  She says the suspect was harassing her for a while before the rape.  Name's Brian Pooler.  Munch and Fin are tracking him down." 

Suddenly, the duo looked up at McCoy, as if just realizing that he was still there.  

"I'm sure we'll be seeing you again, Mr. McCoy," said Benson.  She smiled tightly at him and left with her partner.

Against Benson's advice, Jack slipped into Serena's room a few minutes later with a cup of coffee.  He walked to the side of the hospital bed, unable to stop himself from cataloguing her bruises.  The left side of her face was already swollen.  She had curled up onto her uninjured side and seemed to be asleep, but her eyes opened the moment Jack came in.  She followed his movement warily.  "Hi," she told him again.  

"Serena, I'm—"

"Don't.  Could you…could you please not say anything?" she asked in whisper.  

He nodded.  

Looking relieved, she settled down, but did not close her eyes.  A minute later, she asked, "Did anyone call my parents?"

"Arthur called them," he said.  "They should be here in the morning."  

She didn't ask any more questions, so he drew up a chair and sat with her, not really sure of what he was supposed to do, but not wanting her to be alone.  


	2. The Dirty Truth

Chapter 2 – The Dirty Truth

There were people and voices, but it was all just a sensory input jumble to Serena.  The doctor gave her some pills and told her to come back for more tests, and then a short nurse was handing her some clothes and gently guiding her through the dressing process behind a flimsy curtain.  Serena followed their instructions blindly.

At the door, she was greeted by a pasty-faced officer who led her to a squad car.  She ignored the sympathetic faces she passed on her way to the ambulance bay.  The officer took her to a plain brick building.  He tried to make small talk, but she stared silently out of the car window, watching the darkened buildings merge into a single black mass.  

In the elevator, she let herself relax just enough to breathe normally again.  Then she was being herded through the Special Victims Unit's squad room, where she finally saw familiar faces.  Jack had parted ways with her after the hospital, muttering something about going to the office and drafting some motions.  He kept avoiding looking at her directly and Serena wondered if he was uncomfortable for her or because of her.  But Detective Benson was here pressing a mug of something warm into her hands, placing a strong hand at the small of her back to guide her into an interview room.  Serena glanced at a wall clock.  She had gone out to the closest convenience store for a few little things around nine thirty.  It felt like she'd been gone for days, not hours.

"So when did you get back to your neighborhood?"

Serena fiddled with her undrunk coffee.  "Around ten.  I was just around the corner."

"What happened then?"

"Brian Pooler was waiting for me.  It was as if he knew I had gone out and was waiting for me to come back.  He got out of his car, and stood in front of me.  He said…"  Serena closed her eyes and remembered the words exactly.  "He said he wanted to talk.  I asked him to come to my apartment with me.  I wanted to get out into a lighted area, around people.  He started coming towards me.  He kept suggesting that we go out somewhere, get something to eat.  He wanted me to get in his car.  He was moving towards me the whole time and I kept backing away.  And I saw him get…this _look_ in his eye."  She took a deep breath, trying to get rid of that sick, creepy feeling that set in after crying long and hard.  

"I threw my groceries at him and started running.  It was dark, and, uh, I tripped.  He caught up to me and he grabbed me on the wrist."  Her words grew thicker as her throat constricted involuntarily.  She drew up her sleeve to show Benson and Stabler the hand-sized bruise though it had already been documented at the hospital.  "He put his hand over my mouth, and I just, I just bit down as hard as I could.  I think he screamed and I tried to run away but he had such a tight grip on me.  He…hit me."  Eyes still closed, she frowned, feeling the hard crack of his knuckles all over again.

"Did he hit you anywhere besides your face?" asked Benson.

"No.  The first time, he just kind of slapped me.  But when I kept trying to run away, he hit me again, and, uh, things get a little hazy after that.  I couldn't see very well and there was blood in my mouth from when I bit him.  I tried to spit it at him.  I wanted to get the taste out of my mouth.  He…grabbed my neck so that it was hard to breathe."  One hand unconsciously reached up the rub the crescent-shaped mark around her neck.  "I think I blacked out, because the next thing I knew, he was…on top of me.  He forced himself on me. 

"Before he left, he…he kissed me on the forehead.  He said 'I'll make it up to you,' and he got in his car and drove away.  Maybe a few minutes later, I used my cell phone to call nine-one-one.  I couldn't make myself walk back to my apartment.  I just…wanted to stay hidden in the dark."  She sniffed, rubbed her face roughly with one hand, and opened her eyes.  Sitting directly across from her, Detective Benson's face was inscrutable, but her eyes were warm with support.  Behind her, Detective Stabler leaned against the wall with his arms folded against his chest, trying to make himself seem inconspicuous.

"There's more, isn't there?" asked Serena.  She had come into homicide straight from civil investigations and had little experience with sex crimes.  She had taken one of the departed Alex Cabot's cases, but that had been open-and-shut on the merit of the evidence.  The defendant had made a deal and Serena's only real work had been to tie up any loose ends.  One thing about homicide, the victims couldn't speak for themselves.  The emotions the SVU must have weathered over the years had surely taken a toll on the detectives, but Serena couldn't see any indication of that at the moment.

"There's more," agreed Benson.  

It was almost five in the morning before all the paperwork had been properly filled out and all the questions answered.  Stiffly, Serena stood, feeling slightly chilled in her loose set of borrowed scrubs.  Detective Benson had given her a hooded jacket, but there was still a lingering cold in her muscles.  Serena didn't think she would feel completely warm for a while.

As they emerged into the fluorescently lit squad room, a familiar cultured voice broke over Serena in a half-gasp, half-sob.  "Serena," said her mother, rushing forward and clamping her arms around her only daughter.  

A tall, reserved-looking man stood behind her, hands clasped behind his back.  He looked down at the floor, around the worn room, anywhere but at the emotional display in front of him.  Elliot approached him first.  "Are you Miss Southerlyn's parents?" he asked in a low voice, navigating around the hugging women.

"Peter Southerlyn.  Her father.  My wife, Elaine."  He and Elliot shook hands.

"Detective Stabler.  My partner, Detective Benson, and I have been assigned to your daughter's case."

Serena finally got her mother to let go.  She looked up at the man in front of her.  "Father," she said slowly, almost as if she were testing his reaction.

"Serena," he said, not quite able to keep the break out of his voice.  Seeming to summon his resolve, he embraced his daughter.

Serena stiffened, more in surprise than fear, then reached around her father's waste and hugged him in return.  She hadn't been hugged by him since her twelfth birthday.  After that, it had been handshakes and the rare pat on the back.  Serena wondered briefly if she would have ever hugged him again if she hadn't been raped, but now didn't seem like the right time for resentment.

"Who did this to you?" asked Elaine Southerlyn, gingerly touching the side of Serena's face.  Serena winced, took her mother's hand in an effort to keep her still.  

"Mr. and Mrs. Southerlyn, perhaps you'd be more comfortable talking this out in private," suggested Benson.  Serena would have thrown her a grateful look if her father hadn't been watching.

"Of course," said Peter.  He cleared his throat, made a "lead on" motion.

Elliot watched as his partner led the Southerlyns upstairs where there was a small living area, complete with couch.  Elaine clung to her daughter's arm as if she were fragile.  Peter followed at a stately pace.

"Father seems to be…in shock," said Munch from his desk.  His voice seemed more dry than usual, cutting across the lack of noise in the half-empty building.  

Fin stopped paging through the LUDs from the DA's office long enough to shoot him a patented look.  "You better hope that's just shock.  Woman needs a father now more than ever."


	3. Interlude: The Two Seven

Interlude – The Two-Seven

"_Siddown_," snarled Ed Green.

"You must be joking," said the suspect.  He ran a hand smoothly through his hair.

"Does he look like a funny man to you?" said Lennie.

Van Buren tapped on the two-way glass and Ed followed his partner to the battered interrogation room's door.  "You better hope she has good news," he said, letting his eyes bug out slightly.  He slammed the door for good measure.

"He's not flinching," Lennie told his lieutenant.  "Maybe a little legal pressure would get the ball rolling," he added.

Ed glanced around the small observation room.  "Where's Southerlyn?"

Anita folded her arms and gave her detectives that steely look that could mean so many things.  "I just got a call from the DA's office."

"What's going on?" asked Lennie, his chest involuntarily tightening in response to Van Buren's tone.

"Serena Southerlyn was attacked last night."

"What the hell," Ed murmured to himself.  "Is she…"  He made an odd face.

"She's alive.  SVU is handling the case," said Van Buren neutrally.

"SVU," Lennie repeated.  He made the connection.  "Oh my God."  He dragged a hand over his weathered face.

"In the meantime, we have a temporary replacement to lean on your guy," said Van Buren, motioning.  A preppy-looking young man poked his head around the doorframe.  

"Is that my cue?"

"Ed Green, Lennie Briscoe, meet David Schuster."

Schuster marched into the room, shook hands briskly with both detectives.  "Hi, David Schuster.  Mr. Branch set me."  He studied the scruffy man leaning perilously in his chair in the interrogation room.  "Whaddya like him for?" Schuster asked.

The three cops exchanged oh-boy looks.  Behind Schuster's back, Van Buren held her hands up in a gesture of patience.  "I'll keep you posted," she said, and left.

"He's a murder suspect," Lennie brusquely informed the much younger man.

"Right, right.  Who do you think he killed?"

"You mean you don't know anything about the case?" asked Ed.

"No one's told me anything, no.  Just walk me through it and we'll, uh, I don't know…make a deal."  Schuster shrugged.

"A deal?" Lennie barked.  He crooked a finger at the prosecutor.  "Let me have a word with you in private, champ."

"Lennie, Lennie, Lennie," said Ed.  Lennie blew a derisive puff of air from his nose, but backed down.  Ed put a friendly arm around Schuster's shoulder and led him a few steps away, facing the wall.  

"Wow, he's…"

Ed stuck his finger in Schuster's face.  "Listen, kid, I didn't just bust my hump collaring this guy so you could play _Let's Make A Deal_.  Get your act together before you step in the middle of my interrogation, or you'll be answering to this precinct, _not_ the District Attorney.  You get me?" 

Schuster nodded, his head flopping enthusiastically.  Ed gave him a healthy shove back into the light of the squad room, away from the suspect.

"Come on, Southerlyn, don't leave us in the lurch," Lennie muttered.


	4. Never Let Them See You Bleed

Chapter 3 –  Never Let Them See You Bleed

Serena's parents were staying at the Waldorf-Astoria and had tried to convince her to remain with them, but Serena had insisted that returning to a normal routine would be best.  Numbing the pain would only work for so long.  Something like pride and sadness had flashed through her father's eyes when she had proclaimed her intent to go back to work, but he had couched it in a solemn, "Your mother and I love you, Serena.  We'll be here as long as you need us."

Her mother had walked down to the lobby with her and hugged her again before letting her get in a cab.  

Then it was back to her apartment, where the doorman had exclaimed loudly over her bruised face and promised her whatever she needed.  She caught some of her more curious neighbors watching her through their peepholes.  She couldn't blame them; she was the proverbial car wreck.  It was just human nature.

In the bathroom, she opened up the hot water all the way and scrubbed with a loofah until her skin was red.  

She had read a transcript of a rape victim's interview while preparing for Cabot's left over case.  She had tried to see what that woman saw to psych herself up for the trial.  But the feelings she had imagined had just been words to her: pain, humiliation, fear, anger.  She had been indignant, yes, outraged even, but unable to really comprehend the ramifications of the crime.

She understood now, no matter how much she denied it.  It felt like a part of him was imprinted on her.  If she looked in the mirror, she was afraid she wouldn't see her own face.  She felt dirty all over; even the feel of her own hands made her jumpy.  This was no way to live.

Makeup seemed like a cheap way to avoid the truth.  No amount of concealer would hide the massive bruise on the left side of her face.  She put on light lip gloss and eye shadow, trying to look natural.

Serena stood in her bedroom for a long time, just staring into her closet.  Her wardrobe looked ridiculous now.  How should a rape survivor dress?  She grimaced and pulled on a pair of slacks and a turtleneck sweater.  She probably could have waltzed through her office wearing sackcloth and she still would have been treated with kid gloves.  She grabbed her coat and scarf, scooped up her briefcase, and went downstairs, hoping to God she could find a plausible reason to avoid the doorman.  

When she walked through the front doors of the DA's office, she could feel eyes on her from every corner.  News spread quickly in this building, and it was already nine in the morning.  Ten hours was plenty of time for word to go around.  Poor Serena Southerlyn, made a victim by the kind of person she prosecuted for a living.  The elevator ride was hell.

Still, the last thing she expected when she walked into her office was to hear Jack McCoy grunt, "What the hell are you doing here?"

She turned around to see her boss standing in the door, dressed in a fresh suit and tie.  He wasn't quite scowling at her, his expressive eyebrows somewhere between bemused and frustrated.

"You have a pink slip in your pocket for me, Jack?  Otherwise, it's still a weekday."  She set her satchel on her desk with rather more force than usual, the solid _thunk serving to enforce her point._

"For God's sake, Serena, at least take one day off," argued Jack.  "It hasn't even been twenty-four hours."

"You don't need to remind me," she snapped before she could catch herself.  Jack looked visibly chastised and Serena had to take a silent breath for composure.  "I can't be by myself right now.  This is where I feel the safest," she explained when she was calmer.

He looked like he wanted to argue, at which point Serena would have gladly punched him in the face, but he nodded curtly.  "I'd like a brief on LaCroix by the end of the day," he told her, and left it at that.  


	5. Whereabouts, or Lack Thereof

Chapter 4 – Whereabouts, or Lack Thereof

Casey Novak smoothed down the front of her skirt out of habit before walking purposefully into the SVU squad room.  "Tell me where we are with Serena Southerlyn," she asked without preamble.

"How did this hit the courthouse grapevine so fast?" asked Elliot.  It was barely ten o'clock. 

"Are you kidding me?  This is bigger than Thornburg and his stepdaughter," said Casey.  

"Techs got nothing off Pooler's computer from work," Elliot informed her.  "His apartment's empty too.  Apparently, the creep used to live right across the street from Serena."

"As in the building directly opposite hers?" asked Casey, folding her arms as she tried to suppress a shudder.

"Munch was in his apartment; said he could look straight into her windows.  Living room, bedroom, everything."  

"How long did he live there?"

"Landlord says he moved in during the summer of last year.  If we assume he was watching Serena the whole time…" said Elliot thoughtfully.  Sitting at the adjoining desk, Olivia nodded slowly in silent conclusion.  "Munch and Fin said they found the place where Pooler's storing his furniture, but it doesn't look like that's going anywhere."   Elliot bit his lower lip and continued.  "This guy is gone.  He knows we know who he is."

"He'll be back," said George Huang from Munch's desk.  He stood, like a professor about to give a lecture.  "Serena said that he promised to 'make it up' to her.  He spent months following her, fantasizing about her, creating a world in which she is the predominant figure.  He won't just give her up.  But he's patient.  After Serena rejected him the first time, he waited almost a month to confront her again.  He planned for the eventuality of police involvement."

"So he's smart.  We've dealt with smarter," said Casey, sounding more confident than she felt.

"Perhaps.  I've been reading his employment history," said Huang.  "As an engineer, he's very intelligent, but I'm guessing this is his first time stalking a woman.  He just moved from the west coast; he has no remaining family and no friends, from work or otherwise.  His extreme sense of isolation made him desperate for human contact.  He latched onto Serena, but then she rejected him."

"And he went crazy.  We've heard this story a hundred times before," said Elliot.  "What's your point?"

Patiently, Huang explained.  "He wants to be intimate with her, to have what he perceives is a real relationship.  Even if none of your leads pan out, it's only a matter of time until the mountain comes to Mohammed."


	6. Fighting Back

Chapter 5 – Fighting Back

_Two weeks later_

"Are you sure you'll be all right?" asked Elaine Southerlyn one last time.  She ran a critical eye over her daughter's face.  "You've lost an awful lot of weight, Serena.  I wish you'd come back with us.  Sophia was just saying the other day how much she misses you."

Serena narrowly avoided rolling her eyes.  "Sophia doesn't need a third person to cook and clean for."  She hugged her mother anyway.

"For whom to…"  Elaine's voice trailed off in the middle of correcting Serena.  It just didn't seem that crucial anymore.  She smiled weakly.  "I suppose you're right."

Peter regarded his daughter gravely.  Normally an articulate man, he was unable to tell her that he was proud of her strength, that he loved her best of all things, and that he would miss her very much.  He experienced these sentiments as vague, uncomfortable sensations that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his stomach.  Instead, he awkwardly drew her into her second hug in as many weeks.  "Keep your mother and me informed of the investigation, Serena.  Don't…don't hesitate to call at night."  He terminated the physical contact by taking one measured step backwards.

Feigning amusement, Serena smiled at her father.  She could tell he had tried, but it upset her that after all she had been through, he still hadn't been able to speak openly with her.  She would forbear.  It was a Southerlyn trait.

"We love you, dear," said Elaine as Peter started their car.  She gave her daughter one last, loving look, then got in the Lexus' passenger seat.  

Serena watched the vehicle until it turned at the corner, then went back up to her apartment.  There were stacks of cardboard boxes in her living room, neatly labeled and sorted into categories.

After two weeks, she still hadn't been able to shake the feeling of being watched.  Learning that Brian Pooler used to live less than twenty meters away had put her on edge so badly that she had had to tranquilize herself with a pair of Benadryl.  She had thought about spending the night with a friend, but was damned if she was going to be run out of her own home by mere memories.

After a few days of nonstop hypervigilance, she had changed her mind and found a nice, rent-controlled apartment in a nearby neighborhood.  It was actually much more upscale than her current apartment, and she suspected her mother had pulled a few strings with the realtor to help nudge things along.

In the meantime, she had continued working at the DA's office.  Vacation was a distant concept.  She would not be able to completely relax until she saw Brian Pooler being locked in a ten-by-ten cell.  

The detectives at SVU had virtually nothing to work with.  Despite having his picture circulated throughout the state, accompanied by a story on the evening news, Brian Pooler had vanished.  It was especially frustrating to know that police had only to take him into custody to close the book on her case.  They had a mountain of evidence, all of which was useless without the actual perpetrator.  A tech guy had come by and installed a bug in her phone so that when Brian called her—and he would call, there was no doubt in her mind—the police would be able to trace it back to his location.  So far, nothing.

Serena turned the TV on and left it playing at low volume.  She couldn't stand silence.  

Standing in front of her refrigerator, she sighed.  Her unused Victim's Services card was clipped up next to a takeout menu.  Detective Benson had pressed the card into her hand before dropping her off at her apartment.  The woman had been a bedrock of support, really.  Serena supposed the detective was used to it.  How many victims had Benson seen?  Hundreds?  She hadn't lost her compassion despite her inevitable desensitization to brutality.

The phone rang.  Serena let the machine get it.  It was Carla, wanting to know if Serena wanted to hit the gym with her this weekend.  The gym, filled with sweaty, bulky men, who would all be staring at her in her shorts and t-shirt.  Other friends had asked her to the movies, where she would be expected to sit in the dark for at least two hours, surrounded by strangers.  They all seemed to think that it was best to simply throw her back into the social pool.  

Victim's Services was no better in Serena's mind.  She didn't want to talk to an assigned counselor.  She didn't want therapy.  She didn't want to be a _victim._

During one of her more useless bouts of insomnia, she had found herself musing about becoming friends with some physicists, getting them to build a time machine for her, and changing her past.  The thought had set off a spate of irrational giggling, followed by a few bottles of Corona.

Serena shut the fridge's door and resigned herself to another weekend at the office.  The guards and metal detectors and video cameras, once an irritating necessity, were now a source of comfort.  She exchanged her sweatpants for jeans, pulled her hair into a ponytail, and walked to the nearest subway station.

Even though it was early in the evening, the platform was already crowded.  A lot of commuters were trying to get home, and here she was, headed for work.  Serena was on the verge of taking a taxi instead when she was jostled from behind.  She automatically turned around, one hand reared back as if to strike.  It was just a punk teenager.  He gave her a surly look and slouched away.  Serena lowered her fist.

"Serena."

She didn't hesitate this time.  Serena whirled around and put all of her weight into a punishing right hook.  Brian Pooler went down hard; a few people screamed and backed away.  

"What was _that_ for?" Brian howled.

Her right hand useless, Serena used her left to dig out her cellphone.  She hit the speed dial without taking her eyes from Brian.  He was glancing around nervously at the growing circle of people.  Someone tried to help him up.  At the other end of the line, the phone was ringing.

"Benson."  Her voice was immediately soothing.

"It's Serena.  Brian Pooler's here, Detective.  He's _here," said Serena breathlessly.  She wanted to kick Pooler while he was down, knock him out, anything to make him stop giving her that look of betrayal and confusion.  She pressed the phone tightly to her ear.  _

"Who are you calling?" asked Brian.  "Are you calling the police?"  He shook off the hands of the people helping him and advanced intently on Serena. 

"Serena?  Where are you?" asked Detective Benson.  She sounded like she was already on the move from all the rustling going on in the background.

"I'm on a subway platform.  Uh, 96th and Broadway."  

"What are you doing?" Brian asked, indignant.  

Serena pointed at Brian with her phone, the antenna wavering slightly.  "You stay away from me, you son of a bitch."

"Is this guy bothering you?" asked someone.  

"Serena, tell them who I am," pleaded Brian.  He tried to reassure the bystanders, who were rapidly piecing together the situation.  "There's nothing to see here.  I'm her boyfriend.  Everyone, please, just go back to your business."

"Serena?  Serena?"  Benson's voice sounded tinny and distant on the cellphone.

"Please just hurry," said Serena.

* * * * * *

When Olivia and Elliot pushed their way into the subway station, they found Serena pacing in front of a concrete bench.  A patrolman was trying to get her to stay still while another held the crowd at bay.  A beefy transit detective came forward.  "You SVU?" he asked brusquely.

Olivia placed her hand on her chest, next to the badge clipped to her overcoat.  "Benson."  She pointed to Elliot.  "Stabler."  She stopped a few meters away from Serena, who had finally come to a halt and was looking anxiously at the two SVU detectives.  "What the hell happened?" asked Olivia.

The transit detective referenced his notebook, hooked a thumb over his shoulder.  "The lady says a man who's been stalking her found her on the platform.  He approached her, she felt threatened, so she slugged him.  Says she then called you, Detective Benson, while a Good Samaritan held the suspect in custody."

Elliot looked around.  "Where is he?"

"The suspect broke free, ran off down Broadway.  Samaritan's right over there."  He flipped over the cover of his notebook and tucked it in his jacket.  "As far as I'm concerned, this is all yours."

"Thanks," Elliot drawled, giving the man a sideways glance as he brushed past.

Olivia relieved the officer watching Serena;** he gratefully joined his partner on crowd control.  "Hey, Serena.  You want to tell me what happened?"  She placed a hand on the other woman's arm, guided her to the nearest bench.  Elliot hung back to take witness statements, but also to give the women some space.**

Serena fiddled with the clasps on her bag.  "I was headed for the office.  I got to the station around six o'clock.  A few minutes later, I heard someone say my name.  I knew it was Brian, and…I don't know.  My body just reacted before I could think.  I mean, I _knew it was him by his voice.  So I hit him.  In the face."  She showed Olivia her swollen knuckles.  Her hand was already stiff and she cradled it gingerly, seemingly embarrassed if the slight pinking of her cheeks was any clue.  "Dumb, right?"_

Olivia chuckled.  "I think you did what anyone might have done in your position."  She examined Serena's hand with a critical eye.  "That must've been some punch.  Have you gotten medical attention yet?"

"I didn't show it to the other detective," Serena admitted.  "He seemed to think I was a little…unstable."

"Well, he hasn't seen what you've seen," said Olivia seriously.

"But Brian Pooler does.  How did he know I was going to be here?" asked Serena sharply.  "He must have been watching me.  I don't know how, or from where, I've been so careful…"  She started pacing again, uninjured hand rubbing the back of her neck, the other on her hip.

Olivia stood up directly in Serena's path.  Serena stopped in the face of the detective's solid frame.  "We'll figure it out, Serena, I promise.  For now let's go to the hospital, get that hand checked out, and then we'll get you home, all right?" 

Gnawing at her lip a little, Serena nodded.

"Ready?" asked Elliot, joining the two women.  
  


"Only if Sugar Ray here is," said Olivia.  The partners shot her identical smiles.

The pink became red as the two detectives escorted her into the crisp night air.


	7. Interlude: Partners

Interlude – Partners

"How _did_ he know where to find her?" Olivia asked her partner at the hospital while they waited for Serena's x-rays.

Elliot shrugged.  "He could've followed her, or maybe he was just hanging around the places he knows that she's likely to show up."  He cast an odd look at Olivia.  "Something about this one bothering you?"

"They all bother me, Elliot," said Olivia.

"You sure?   Didn't you crash in the crib last night?"

Olivia scoffed.  "Like you haven't grabbed a couple of hours in there when we were on a hot case."

"And the night before last…"

"Elliot."  Her tone warned him to drop it.  He was forced to do so as his phone rang; he wandered a few feet away to take the call.

The truth of it was Olivia still hadn't shaken Alex from her system.  There had been no warning, only the shock of cruel surprise.  Alex had left so abruptly that the fact of her departure hadn't really hit Olivia for a few days, and when it had, she had curled up on her bed for hours, practically catatonic.

Meeting Serena Southerlyn a few months ago hadn't helped.  The blonde hair and blue eyes were so reminiscent of Cabot, though physically the two women were otherwise nothing alike.  Alex had been long and lean, whereas Serena was shorter and more compact.  Where Alex had been the mature professional, Southerlyn seemed younger somehow, less willing to acknowledge that the world sometimes worked with a wink and a nod.  And while Alex already had the independence that made her such a good match for SVU, Serena seemed to regard Jack McCoy as her mentor and took second chair at trial.  Her relative youth only made Olivia more determined to protect her.

"All right.  We'll see you at the station house."  Elliot flipped his phone shut and came back to Olivia.  "That was Fin.  Pooler was spotted heading east on 101st.  He and Munch are gonna follow Pooler, maybe see if they can find out where he's been holing up all this time."

"God, if he disappears again, who knows when he'll come back up for air," said Olivia.  She ran her hands through her hair, wondered if she should get it cut again.

"You remember what Huang said.  The guy can't stay away.  We just have to stick close to Serena."

"For how long, Elliot?  What kind of life is that, having cops breathing down your neck every second of the day, just waiting for the other shoe to drop?"  Olivia let her head sag.  "It feels like a losing battle, sometimes."  

Elliot regarded his partner thoughtfully.  "You saying you want to quit?"

Olivia gave him a withering look but he responded with his most neutral face, knowing that her irritation with him was a small price to pay.  They both needed a little boost every now and then.  "You know what it is," she said.

"You can't save everybody," said Elliot.

"Used to be I thought I could," said Olivia, letting some of her fatigue creep into her voice.  

Serena came out of the exam room, followed by the doctor.  She looked woozy from the painkillers.  Enunciating very clearly, she told the detectives, "I hate hospitals."


	8. Common Side Effects Include

Chapter 6 – Common Side Effects Include…

She didn't jump at the slightest noises anymore, but she still looked scared.  Olivia saw it in her hesitation, the slight clench of her jaw.  A part of it was also anger, and Olivia was glad to see Serena with her hackles up.  If she wanted to fight back, it was better to be mad as hell than paralyzed by fear.  "We have uniforms posted in your neighborhood.  They know what to look for," said Olivia.  She parked the car in front of Serena's building and turned off the engine.

Serena nodded absently, but didn't get out of the car.  Her eyes automatically went to Brian's empty apartment, where the windows were still dark.  He could be squatting out of sight, waiting for her to go to sleep, and she wouldn't know.  She would wake up and he would be standing over her—Serena clenched her hands into fists and took a deep breath to head off the hyperventilation she knew was near.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?  Should I call your parents?" asked Olivia, who also saw the warning signs.

"No," said Serena automatically.  She hadn't called her parents for help for almost twenty years.  "I just can't—I don't—"  She rested her head against the cold passenger side window, jaw working silently.  

"Hey, it's okay," said Olivia, taking Serena's left hand and squeezing lightly.  "Do you want me to take you to a friend's place?"

"No, it's late.  I don't want to bother them."  

"Is there anyone else, then?" Olivia asked very gently.

Serena shook her head and, after a moment, leveled gazes with the other woman.  "So you think he's going to try to contact me again?"

"I'd bet on it," confirmed Olivia.

"Tonight?"

Olivia hesitated to give a definite answer.  "We don't know.  He's demonstrated that he's able to wait, and that he's been planning for this for a while.  Detectives Munch and Tutuola are tracking him down now, but—"  Her phone started jangling.  She held up an apologetic hand.  "Benson."

"It's Munch.  Thought you'd want to know we followed the little fink to a dive in Harlem."

Munch's tone was drier than usual.  Olivia flicked a glance at Serena.  "Is he in custody?"

"I'm afraid not.  He had some elaborate escape system set up; went up the garbage chute to the roof.  We did find his computer, though.  The tech guys have a lot to look forward to, if the wallpaper featuring our lovely ADA is any indication."

Olivia rolled her eyes.  "Thanks, John."  

Serena looked at her expectantly.  "They found him, didn't they?"

Olivia winced.  "They were able to follow him home, but he managed to escape."  Olivia continued , trying to compensate for Serena's rapidly darkening expression.  "He's on the run.  He doesn't have many more resources.  We'll get him." 

"But he's still out there, and now he's probably more desperate than ever."  Serena laughed humorlessly and slumped in her seat, one hand reaching languidly for the seat belt release, the other already opening the door.  

Olivia made up her mind; she started the car and Serena took her hand off the door handle.  "Where are we going?"  

"Somewhere safe."  Traffic was light, and they reached Olivia's neighborhood inside of twenty minutes.  

"Who lives here?" asked Serena, looking puzzled.

"I do," said Olivia.  She got out, ushered Serena up to the second floor, shouldered open the door to her apartment.  "Come on in.  It's not the Upper East Side, but I manage."  There was little clutter, and less mess.  She spent so much of her time at work these days that she didn't have time to dirty up her apartment, save a few dishes in the sink.

"You'll have to remind me.  Is this usually how protective custody works?" Serena asked, entering the apartment with slow steps.  

Olivia quirked a smile at the ADA.  "That's the painkillers talking."

"It's highly likely," agreed Serena.  She shrugged off her coat, carefully sliding her right hand through the sleeve, and dumped her bag on the floor to the door.  Nothing was broken, but she'd have to do a lot of things left-handed for the next few days.  Writing up briefs all night long was out of the question; the painkillers were already making her drowsy.  She swayed on her feet, a move that didn't escape Olivia's notice.

"You look like you're about to fall over," she observed.

"Also highly likely," said Serena.  She was already leaning against the wall in an effort to stay upright.

"Come on," said Olivia.  She put an arm around Serena's waist, draped Serena's arm around her neck, kicked the door shut, and managed to get the blonde into the bedroom.  Serena fell onto the mattress in an uncoordinated jumble, half-dragging Olivia with her.  Olivia pulled off Serena's shoes, then dragged the sheets up from the edge of the bed where she had kicked them several days ago and covered Serena up to the chest.  "Good night, counselor," she whispered.

"Where're you sleeping?" asked Serena unexpectedly.  

Olivia stopped in the doorway, silhouetted by light from the living room.  "The couch and I are old friends," she said. 

Serena blinked in the darkness.  "Don't wanna be an inconvenience," she said with a yawn.

"It's my job to make sure you're safe," said Olivia, smoothing Serena's hair.

"'M safe while you're here," Serena mumbled into Olivia's pillow.  It smelled like shampoo, something sweet Serena couldn't place.  She was too tired to try to remember.

Olivia had a few arguments otherwise—_I couldn't even save Alex—but she could see the younger woman was fast approaching unconsciousness.  "I'll be here until you fall asleep, okay?"_

"Kay."

Olivia grabbed her pajama pants and left the door slightly cracked.  She stripped down to her tank top, pulled on the comfortable cotton pants, and settled onto her couch for a restless night.  She had just managed to fit her frame to the cushions in a way that was remotely comfortable when she heard muffled whimpering.  She rolled off the couch, hit the floor running, and burst into her bedroom, where Serena was jerking fitfully under the sheets.

"Serena."  Olivia turned on the bedside lamp.  

Serena made a strangled, sobbing noise and started to cry in her sleep, the tears falling into her hair.  

Olivia rubbed Serena's arm and said her name again, louder.  "Serena.  It's only a dream.  Wake up."

Serena opened her eyes; they roved around the unfamiliar room frantically before locking on Olivia.  She instinctively held her arms out, wrapped them around Olivia's neck.  She had woken up almost every night like this, crying and afraid and terrifyingly alone.  With Olivia just a room away, she had been sure she would finally be able to make it through the night, but the dream had been the same.  She had been trapped in a suffocating darkness and rough hands had been touching her all over.  She had heard his panting, felt the painful tug of his hand in her hair.  

This time, though, Olivia was here, and she buried her face in Olivia's neck and kept crying.  She had been coping for so long and it finally felt right to break down, to let herself be weak, if only for a moment.  Between her mother's fretting and her father's distance, she hadn't even realized that she needed a release this badly.

"Please don't leave me alone," Serena begged in between sobs, aware of how needy she sounded but not caring.  She knew intuitively that Olivia Benson would help her exorcise her demons every step of the way, and for the first time in a long while, she didn't mind asking.

"I'm here," Olivia soothed.  She held on, letting Serena draw all the comfort she needed from the physical contact.  She stroked the younger woman's hair until the wracking sobs became quiet sniffling, and then uneven breathing.  Gingerly, she pulled away, looked down at the blonde.  "I'll be right back," she said.

Emotionally and physically exhausted, Serena simply let her head fall back on Olivia's soft pillows.

The detective returned with a glass of water and a damp washcloth.  She wiped the silvery tear tracks from Serena's face, gave her the water, and sat patiently on the side of the bed while Serena composed herself.  "Better?" she asked after a few minutes.

"Yes.  Thank you," Serena said hoarsely.

"Try and sleep."  Olivia clicked off the lamp and started to get up, but felt a light hand fall on her knee.

"I'm…sorry.  Could you please…could you please stay with me for a while?"

"Sure," said Olivia after a moment.  She made her way to the other side of the bed, lay down lightly on top of the covers.  Serena settled down and fell asleep in short order, eventually curling up on her side.  Olivia waited until the blonde's respiration took on the telltale characteristics of deep sleep before getting up.  But when she started to slide off the mattress, Serena twitched, as if sensing the movement.  She muttered something incomprehensible and rolled towards the center of the bed.  One arm instinctively snaked around Olivia's waist, like a child hugging a stuffed toy in her sleep. 

_Great_, thought Olivia.  _Where's my teddy bear?_

Unable to see a way out, she resigned herself to the situation and closed her eyes, soon falling asleep.


	9. Carry That Weight

Chapter 7 – Carry That Weight

A/N: "Carry That Weight" is the title of a song from the Beatles' album Abbey Road

It was Saturday, but the SVU squadroom was still half-full.

"_How_ many pictures?"  Olivia glanced at her partner, who sat opposite her at his desk.  He cocked his head curiously and she held up a stalling hand.  "The whole hard drive?  I thought you said it was sixty gigs…really.  Really.  Okay.  Thanks."  She hung up and looked Elliot in the eye.  "Pooler's been busy.  The entire hard drive was full of files relating to Serena.  Her schedule, personal information, pictures, movies.  There was even a slide show with music."

"A regular Leibowitz," snarked Elliot.  He checked his watch, saw that it was going on five.  He'd promised to be home for an early dinner.  "You gonna be here for a while?" he asked Olivia.

She tossed Brian Pooler's credit history on her desk.  "We're not going to catch him through paperwork."  She grabbed her overcoat and followed her partner outside.  

"Dinner?" Elliot offered.

"Uh…"  Olivia fingered the squad car keys in her pocket.  "No thanks, El."

"All right.  Tell Serena hi for me."

"You don't—"  Elliot was already walking to his car.  He tossed a wave over his shoulder.

Olivia stood in confusion for a few moments, glancing back and forth between the squad car and the station house.  "Aw, hell with it," she snarled, and got in the same dark sedan she had used to drive Serena home that morning.  

Olivia had slept lightly, very aware of the warm body next to her.  The police naturally guarded their own, including the city's prosecutors, but Olivia's protectiveness of the ADA went beyond the fact of her job.  

_Alex, Alex, look at me.  You're going to be just fine_.

She wasn't dead.  Not really.  Olivia still felt like she had failed.  

Alex Cabot would have been the last person to admit that she needed some kind of champion to stand up for her, but Olivia couldn't help but subconsciously assume that role.  Alex hadn't had a gun or bulletproof vest, just a savvy legal mind and a strong will.  It had been Olivia's place to make up for what Alex couldn't fight on her own, and she hadn't even seen it coming.  Maybe it was because Alex was a woman, maybe it was because Olivia had harbored deep-seated feelings for her; whatever the reason, Alex had represented strength and solidarity.  She had been like a touchstone for Olivia.

It didn't help that Serena acted so much like Alex at times, to the point of matching her bullheaded stubbornness.  Serena had confessed that she hadn't bothered to contact Victim's Services because she had been determined to work through everything on her own.  Her boss, Jack McCoy, had suspected something was amiss when he found her in the morning, face-down on her desk, three days in a row.  He hadn't pressed the issue at the time, but Arthur Branch called her into his office for a little sit-down during which he mentioned "enforced vacation."  Technically, she wasn't supposed to go within a hundred meters of One Hogan Place for the next few days.

"Then where were you going?" Olivia had asked.

"To work," Serena had admitted.

It had to be different with Serena.  

Olivia had woken up first, disentangled herself from a lightly snoring Serena Southerlyn, and had taken a quick shower.  She had emerged from the bathroom, rubbing her head with a towel, to find Serena sitting on the edge of the bed looking refreshed, albeit rumpled.  Olivia had made Serena a cup of coffee, let her run through the bathroom, and dropped her off before heading to SVU.  

Now it was back to Serena's place.  The doorman recognized Olivia and let her in with a quaint tip of his hat.  She took the stairs to Serena's floor, knocked, and waited.

"Detective Benson," said Serena with a pleasant smile.  "What news on the Rialto?"

Olivia raised an eyebrow.  "I was just checking up on you."

Serena pressed her cheek against the door as she spoke.  "I appreciate it."  She stepped to one side and gestured.  "Come in."

"Thanks," said Olivia.  She stepped into the apartment proper, hands tucked in her pockets.  There were no visible hints at the wealth backing the Southerlyn name; everything had been boxed up.  "You're moving," she noted.

"Yeah.  It's kind of spooky, being here alone at night," said Serena.  She snorted and added, "Even spookier now, I guess, with Brian skulking around God knows where."  She padded into the kitchen.  "Can I offer you a drink?  I don't know if you're still on duty…"  The sound of clinking bottles carried into the living room.

"I'm fine, thanks," said Olivia.  She sat on the plush couch, which faced a moderately-sized TV.  

Serena emerged from the kitchen a few minutes later with a steaming mug in her hand.  She sat next to Olivia and sipped her drink slowly.  "I've been meaning to thank you," she said, looking down at her coffee.

"For what?"

"For taking care of me last night.  And understanding.  I know it's your job, but you make it seem like it's not."  She turned her head, looked somberly at the detective.  "You and Detective Stabler have made it a lot easier.  I mean, my parents, while sympathetic, have never been what you might call…accommodating.  They had their own ideas about how to handle this mess."

"Parents can be like that," agreed Olivia.  

"Were your parents overwhelmingly overbearing too?" Serena asked with a smile.

That familiar sense of discomfort sprang up in Olivia's stomach.  "I never knew my dad.  My mom was pretty wonderful, though."

"Oh…right.  Right.  I'm sorry.  I mean, not that your mom was great.  That was a personal question to ask," Serena apologized.  She stopped speaking abruptly in an effort to stem the unusually awkward flow of words.

"It's okay," said Olivia.  She adjusted herself on the couch so that she was looking directly at Serena.  "But speaking of personal questions, can I ask you something?"

"Sure," said Serena slowly.

In her most piercing tone of voice, Olivia asked, "How are you holding up?  Honestly."

"Aside from my complete breakdown last night…"  Serena trailed off.  She felt a compulsion to be honest with the detective sitting next to her.  She wasn't a liar by nature, but Olivia Benson had an earnest quality that made Serena want to open up.  She pulled a wry face.  "Honestly?"  A pause to gather herself, organize her words.  But then she decided to simply speak.  Detective Benson didn't care if she was eloquent.  

"I feel like shit.  Sometimes I think I'm going to jump out of my own skin.  I just want this feeling of having to always look over my shoulder to go away.  And I'm scared that it never will, that I won't be able to move on.  I mean, as soon as I start to feel like I can be on my own again, bullshit like this happens and…"  She flapped her hands helplessly against her thighs.  To her surprise, she felt wetness gathering in the corners of her eyes.  Damn the woman for being able to do this to her.

"It gets better, Serena.  Maybe not right now, but if you can just get through this minute, this hour, this day, you'll be fine," Olivia reassured her, leaning forward, closing the space between them. "You fought back yesterday.  Hang on to that feeling."

Serena put her drink down so she could gesture freely.  "What if I can't?  I've always had to buck up, be strong, and I don't think that I can do it anymore…"  She covered her face with both hands, trying to hide her tears while she blinked them away.  Serena sat up straight and palmed her eyes roughly.  "Sorry," she sniffled, offering Olivia a watery smile.

"You don't have to apologize."  Olivia looked around until she spotted an idle paper towel.  She handed it to Serena, who took it gratefully and wiped her nose.  She crumpled the used towel and tossed it into an open, empty box; then, feeling oddly vulnerable without something in her hands, she picked up her coffee again.  She tapped the side of the mug with one nervously shredded fingernail.

"Are you sure you don't want anything?  Don't cops live on coffee?" Serena asked.  It felt like a delaying tactic.  Delaying what, Serena wasn't sure.  

Olivia could see the ADA wouldn't be deterred from small pleasantries.  "Coffee would be nice," she said.

Serena seemed almost grateful for the task as she slipped into the kitchen, taking a mug from its bubble wrap and filling it from the percolating pot.  "Sugar?" she called out.

"I'll take it black," said Olivia, standing just outside of the small dining area.

Serena started visibly.  Hot liquid sloshed over the edge of the mug.  "Shit," she said, hands braced on the counter.

"I didn't mean to sneak up on you," said Olivia, who might have been amused by Serena's jumpiness if it weren't a by-product of being brutally raped.

"That's okay," said Serena breathily.  She grabbed a dirty rag, wiped up the spill.  "Here you go."  She handed off the coffee.  

"Are you—"

"Let's just agree that I'm in something of a transition period," Serena interrupted.  "How about we talk about you for a change?"

"Okay," said Olivia agreeably.  

"Okay."  Serena brushed past the detective and flopped onto the couch, feet curled underneath her body.  

Olivia followed, coffee in hand.  She sat down next to Serena, head tilted curiously.  "So.  What do you want to know?"

"Hm?  Oh, no.  I've already invaded your privacy once tonight.  I just didn't feel like rehashing all my fear-driven insecurities," said Serena glibly.  "But please, feel free to share all your most embarrassing secrets."

"I don't know if we have time for all of them," said Olivia, offering a toothy grin.  She was suddenly very glad she hadn't accepted Serena's offer of something more intoxicating than coffee, because she was perilously close to flirting with a rape victim.  Falling asleep next to the counselor had been disconcerting; she had felt as if she were doing something unseemly.  It had felt like a betrayal.

_Alex, look at me_.  

Her smile faded.

"Something wrong?" Serena asked, watching Olivia go from lighthearted to somber.

"Just memories," said Olivia.  

"They don't seem to be the happy, idyllic kind," Serena noted.  "Not that the SVU is a happy, idyllic place."

"No, it's not."  Olivia fought to shut down emotionally.  She refused to use this woman for sympathy.  She had talked to her partner, she had talked to Huang; she didn't need to talk to an emotionally vulnerable and insecure victim.

"How long have you been with the unit?" Serena asked, trying not to sound too curious.  

Olivia opened her mouth, closed it.  "A while," she said at last.  "Why?"

"It's…"  Serena seemed to search the air in front of her for words.  "I was in civil investigations.  The only dead bodies I saw were on the national news.  Even prosecuting homicides, everything is distilled.  There's always that distance.  And when we speak for the victims, it's because they couldn't speak even if they wanted to.  You come face-to-face with living victims all the time and they all have a story.  How do you not lose yourself in the fray?

Olivia pursed her lips.  "I won't lie.  Some days, it gets to be a little too much."

"And on days like those…" Serena prompted.

"I usually end up at a bar with the guys.  We end up three sheets to the wind trying to forget and have a hell of a time at work the next day," said Olivia.  

Serena eyebrows knitted together with concern.  "That's it?  You get drunk?"

"Well, Elliot has his family.  Munch is…Munch.  Fin seems to get along with his friends and I think he's got some relatives stashed somewhere."  Olivia rubbed her eyebrow self-consciously.  This was not how she had envisioned any conversation with Southerlyn.  

"What about you?"

"What about me?" 

Serena shrugged.  "So that's all you do to cope.  Go out with your friends."

"You a shrink too, counselor?" Olivia asked, not a little defensively.  

"Do you always let victims stay the night?" Serena retorted.

"All right.  It's been a long day—"

"It's not even six o'clock."

"And you've obviously got a lot to think about—"

"Actually, I just took my medication."

"So I think I'm gonna go."  Olivia put down her now-lukewarm coffee and braced herself to get up, but Serena laid a hand on her arm.

"I'm sorry if I crossed a line.  I just want to know why you've taken all this time to help me," said Serena softly.

Olivia stared at Serena's hand and the blonde withdrew it contritely.  Olivia felt sorry for snapping at her.  "You remind me of someone I used to know," she said, looking down at her knees.  She ran her thumb under the delicate chain around her neck, coming to the single diamond pendant resting at the base of her throat.  

Serena had her guesses, but waited for Olivia to speak first.  She didn't want to jump the gun in an already tense conversation.

"She was about your age.  Stubborn.  Smart."  The corner of Olivia's mouth twitched.  "Occasionally annoying as hell."

"It's a by-product of being right so often," Serena quipped.  She watched as Olivia continued to fiddle with her necklace.  "Did she give you that necklace?"

Olivia let her gaze drift in Serena's general direction.  "Yes," she whispered.

"I never really met Alex Cabot," said Serena.

The detective's eyes snapped into focus.  "What makes you think I'm talking about Alex Cabot?"

Serena stared at her unblinkingly.  

"She was my friend."

"Looks like she still is," said Serena evenly.  She switched tacks.  "Is that why I've seen more of you this weekend than my own parents?  I remind you of your friend?"

"A lot of things remind me of Alex," said Olivia truthfully.  She had told Huang about her guilt and the trauma of losing her friend, but some things she had kept private, like her latent attraction for the ADA.  She was sure Huang had deduced it from their shotgun sessions, but he hadn't said anything and neither had she.  Now she was about to tell all to a relative stranger.  It was a frightening, intoxicating feeling.

"Did you love her?"

"I never got the chance to find out," said Olivia.  

Serena crawled across the couch and tucked herself against Olivia's side.  Surprised, Olivia didn't react for a few seconds, but then instinctively let her arm rest across Serena's, relaxed her shoulder under Serena's head.  

"I think you loved her very much," said Serena, idly flexing her right hand.  The muscles there creaked, almost snapping in protest.  

"Yeah.  Me too," said Olivia.  It felt good to say it aloud.    

"God, I wish they hadn't given me those painkillers," Serena mumbled several lazy minutes later.  She rubbed her face into Olivia's shirt and stretched her legs out, eyes tightly closed.  "I could really go for a drink."

"Hand still bugging you?"

"You know, the doctor said nothing was broken, but I'm disinclined to believe him at the moment," said Serena, not without humor.  

"At least you won't be disobeying orders from the DA," Olivia pointed out.

Serena snorted.  "I'm sure this is exactly what he had in mind: me passing out the moment the sun goes down."

"Sounds like codeine, all right," said Olivia.  For the second time, she escorted Serena to bed, getting the woman to sit down while Olivia tossed her a t-shirt and pants.  She turned around while Serena changed, then got her settled for the night.

Serena stared up at the detective from between her cotton sheets.  "We've got to stop meeting like this," she chuckled.  "Just once I'd like to talk to you without losing consciousness."

"It's okay.  My exorbitant salary makes up for the lack of conversation."  

Serena gifted her with a sleepy smile.  "Are you leaving?"

"Are you okay to be alone?" 

"Think so.  Won't know 'til I try."  Her eyelids were fluttering with the effort of staying awake.

Olivia watched Serena for a few moments before she realized that she had been left in something of a dilemma.  "Serena," she said, kneeling by the bed and shaking the other woman.  "I'm sorry to have to do this to you, but you have to see me out."

"Whassat?" Serena said, not opening her eyes.

"Serena, you have to lock the door behind me."

Serena flapped a limpid hand in protest.  "Keys're in my bag."

"I can't take your keys."

"Sure y'can.  L'be home all weeken'," she slurred.  

"Serena—"

It was no good.  The blonde was out cold.

With a sigh, Olivia heaved herself to her feet and made her way through the dimly lit apartment.  She rifled through Serena's purse until her fingers unearthed a telltale ring of metal.  With a last glance towards the bedroom, Olivia let herself out, locking the door behind her.


	10. Showdown

Chapter 8 – Showdown

Jack juggled his paper with the cups of coffee he had picked up on the way to Serena's apartment.  He paused to remember her apartment number, then walked up to the doorman, who let him in with a perfunctory nod.  To Jack's surprise, someone was already pressing Serena's buzzer.

"Detective Benson, I wasn't expecting to see you here.  New information about the case?" asked Jack.

Benson turned around, looking startled and, for some reason, vaguely guilty.  "Not exactly, no."  The inner door clicked open and Olivia opened it for the counselor.  She drew something from her pocket and handed it to him.  "These are Ms. Southerlyn's keys.  If you could return them to her for me…"  Without another word, she left.

Puzzled, Jack took the elevator up to the second floor.  He knocked on Serena's door, and she opened it saying, "Detective, thanks for…"  Her voice trailed off and her eyes widened.  "Jack.  Hi."

"Can I come in?" he asked.

"Oh, sure.  Sorry."  Serena stepped aside to let him in.

"I heard about what happened last night—"  _Apparently__ not everything__ that happened, Jack thought before he could help himself.  "—and I wanted to stop by, see how you're doing."  He handed her one of the coffees, and also her keys.  "Detective Benson wanted me to give you those."  There was a questioning note in his voice._

"Thanks," said Serena, rather shortly.  She dropped the keys into her purse and took her coffee to the kitchen.  Jack followed, expecting further explanation.  "I can hear the gears turning in your sordid mind, Jack," said Serena with her back to him.

"It's none of my business."  Though if Detective Benson was sleeping with a victim, Jack would be sure to make it his business.  As his assistant had once put it, it was an inherently unequal relationship, not to mention a breach of ethics.

"You're damn right it's none of your business," said Serena as she turned around, though she sounded more amused than angry.  "But for your information, I had a couple of painkillers in my system last night."  She held up her damaged hand; both bushy eyebrows went up.  "Detective Benson came to check up on me.  I fell asleep, she needed to lock the door on her way out.  It's not like I was going to leave the apartment, so she temporarily took my keys.  End of story."  

"I see."

"Jack McCoy, I do not need you hovering around like an overprotective brother," said Serena.

"Who's being overprotective?" said Jack with a hint of his old grin.  He and Serena hadn't had a less-than-professional discussion in a long while.  He was coming to regard her as something of a protégé, and he missed being able to add levity to their conversations, even just to draw out her considerable ire.

"Thanks for the coffee, Jack," said Serena, emphasizing his name pointedly.

"Far be it from me to impose," he responded, and went to the front door.  There he paused and added, "Serena, I'm glad you're all right."

She tilted her head and gave him the first real smile he'd seen since the night in the hospital.  "So am I."

The door burst open and bashed Jack in the head, sending him tumbling to the wooden floor.  His vision seemed to implode, going from color to full blackout in less than a second.  Serena shouted something unintelligible.

"I leave you alone for a few days and this is what I find?" said a distinctly male voice.  Jack shook his head, trying to clear it.  He was already digging in his pocket for his cellphone.  The blurry outline of a male in dark colors hovered over Jack.  _It's him.  Jack heard Serena scream for help; he felt something brush his arm and latched onto it tightly.  Brian Pooler shook his leg as if he were trying to get something off of his shoe.  Jack hung on doggedly, clawing at Pooler's leg.  He had to give Serena time to get to a phone, or at least to get away.  Pooler kicked him; Jack let go with a grunt._

From the corner of his eye, he saw Serena dart into the kitchen.  There were hasty ripping sounds and she came back with a large knife.  Pooler reached for something tucked in the waistband of his pants.  There was the familiar click of a hammer being cocked, and Jack found himself staring up at the barrel of a revolver.  The apartment suddenly went from chaotic movement to total stillness.

"Serena, can't we just talk about this?" asked Pooler.  He looked like he was sweating and Jack estimated that it wasn't long before the man's tenuous grip on reality evaporated completely.  

Serena clutched her knife tightly enough to turn her knuckles white.  Then, very slowly, she set it aside.  "Of course, Brian," she said softly.  "Just…point that gun away from Jack."

Pooler looked down at Jack.  "Ah, Mr. McCoy, I'm sorry to have dragged you into all of this, but I'm prone to jealousy.  You understand."

"Mr. Pooler—"

"You know my name!"  Pooler looked delighted.  "Serena, honey, you've been talking about me at work."

"Well, you're an important part of my life," said Serena, fighting to form the words with a suddenly dry mouth.  "I've told a lot of people about you."  

"Like me."  Olivia Benson stood in the doorway, her gun in her hands.  She looked calm, steady, and Jack found himself admiring her poise.  "Put the gun down, Brian."

Pooler gave an exasperated sigh.  "Do you have the NYPD on retainer or something?  I'm beginning to think you like airing out all our private business in the workplace."

"Brian, backup is on the way," said Olivia firmly.  Her gut was telling her this wasn't going to end well.  "Now put down the gun."

Pooler craned his head around to smirk at the detective, but kept his revolver trained on Jack.  "Look, detective, I don't know what you think you're doing, but I am very obviously in control of the situation.  Just back off."  

"Brian," started Serena.  He made a hissing noise to cut her off.

"Brian, Brian," he repeated mockingly.  "For once, I'm gonna talk, okay?  Is that okay with you, Serena?  You gonna hit me again?"  He pointed with one finger to his black eye.  "'Cause let me tell you, physical violence is not going to do anything to iron out the kinks in our relationship."

"I'm sorry I hurt you," said Serena.  "Please, just leave my friends out of this.  We can be adults about this."  She gave him a hopeful smile.  

He seemed to waver; the revolver slowly tilted away from Jack's face.  Then a clattering sound erupted from the hallway and Pooler whirled around, reflexively bringing the revolver up.  Olivia took the shot, firing into Brian's chest twice.  He jerked backward, tripped over Jack's outstretched feet, landed in a broken heap on the floor.  Blood immediately pooled under his body.

Two uniformed officers ran to the open doorway, service weapons drawn.  "We got the radio call for backup," said the lead officer.  

Olivia motioned for him to stay back.  She edged forward, gun trained on Brian Pooler's body.  He was still alive, just barely.  Olivia nudged the revolver away from his limp hand.  "Call for a bus," she told the two officers in the hallway.  

Jack pushed himself up, edged along the wall to stand next to Serena.  Detective Benson turned to both of them.  "Are you all right?" she asked them, a tremor in her voice the only indication of the adrenaline that must be racing through her body.

Serena nodded mutely, one hand covering her mouth.  She couldn't look away from Pooler.  He made wet, sucking sounds as he tried to breathe.  "How did you know?" she asked at last.

"I saw him in the street and doubled back," said Olivia.  She held up a few fingers in front of Jack.  "Mr. McCoy?  Can you tell me how many fingers you see?" 

"If I divide by two to account for the double image, then three," said Jack dizzily.  Serena led him to a wooden chair at the kitchen table.

"Get some towels," Olivia said, turning around.  She holstered her weapon, took the handful of washcloths that Serena passed to her, and pressed them to Pooler's chest.  He stared at Olivia with glassy eyes.  

"Serena," he whispered.


	11. Interlude: Stabler

Interlude – Stabler

Elliot was in the middle of loading a plate with hamburger patties when Kathy came out onto the patio with the cordless in her hand.  "It's Olivia," she said, unable to hide the reproach in her voice.  He had promised her, nothing work-related for the rest of the weekend.  

Elliot wiped his hands on his apron, took the phone from his wife.  "What's up Liv?"

"We got him, Elliot," she told him.

"Hot damn.  What happened?" he asked, grinning.

"He tried a home invasion at Serena's apartment.  I was checking up on her, just happened to be there.  I had to shoot him."  

Elliot sobered.  "I'm sorry."

"Yeah."

"Everyone okay?"

"We're all fine, except Pooler.  He's in surgery right now."

"All right.  Let me know how it turns out," said Elliot.  He wanted to join his partner to support her, but knew she would tell him to stay with his family.  "You did good, Liv," he added before hanging up.

"Everything all right?" asked Kathy.  

"Everything's great," said Elliot.  He kissed his wife and followed her inside, hamburgers in hand.


	12. Epilogue

Epilogue

"You two are a right pair of invalids," said Arthur Branch.  He chuckled to himself.

"Hmph," said Jack.  No concussion from Pooler's blitz attack, just some whiplash and a throbbing headache.  

"You'd think that would've entitled us to some kind of leniency in Tomkins' courtroom today," said Serena, perched on the leather couch that sat against the back wall of the office, a snifter of brandy in her good hand.  The other hand was healing slowly; she could just barely make a fist without sending bolts of pain lancing up her arm.

"I offered you both paid leave," Branch reminded her.

A secretary knocked on the door, handed Jack a slip of paper.  He read it, his face settling carefully into a blank mask.  

"What is it?" asked Serena.

"Brian Pooler just died in intensive care," said Jack.  He passed the note to Serena.

Branch sat back in his plush, well-worn chair.  "Well, that certainly makes things easier for me.  I had about a dozen people wanting to do Casey Novak's job."

"How nice," Serena said, a touch of bitterness edging around the words.  

"You know it's because you've earned the respect of this office," Branch said, not quite admonishing her.  

"I know," said Serena.  She put the snifter down.  "Excuse me."

Jack and Arthur exchanged looks.  "She's had a rough time of it," said Jack.

"You don't need to tell me," said Branch. 

Serena sat in her office, sifting aimlessly through paperwork.  She'd had to hunt-and-peck her way through several reports on her computer, which had quickly become tedious.  She almost wished she had put off doing those reports, because she could use a little tedium at the moment.  

Brian Pooler was dead.  There would be no trial, no sentencing.  She was glad and disappointed and angry with herself for being disappointed.  Brian Pooler was dead.  It should have been like a gift, a neat end to the weeks of torment.  Why wasn't she ecstatic?  Was her thirst for revenge that insatiable, or was it some perverse kind of sympathy for a man who hadn't been able to help himself?  She threw down her pen in disgust.

"That kind of day, huh?"

Serena looked up; Olivia Benson stood just outside the door, dressed in her usual pants and v-neck sweater.  "Hi," Serena said, surprised.

"Mind if I have a seat?"

"Of course not."  Serena bade her take one of the two chairs facing her desk.

Olivia plopped down in the nearer seat, her jacket folded in her lap.  "Just stopped by to see how you were."

"You heard about Brian?" Serena asked.

"Yeah."  Olivia fiddled with the fabric of her jacket.  She had killed in the line of duty again.  She was worried that she was getting to be too familiar with the firearm discharge review board.  But she would do it again if it meant she could sit here with Serena at the end of day.

"Was that your first time…firing on a suspect?" Serena asked, hoping she wasn't being too blunt or too forward.  Somehow, she didn't think Olivia would hold either offense against her.

"No," said Olivia.  "I've been in some pretty tight situations before.  But you're safe, and that's what matters."  She brushed away unpleasant memories.  "How are you?"

Once again, Serena felt that tug of compassion from the detective.  Her wounds were laid open in an instant when Olivia took that tone of voice.  "Is it wrong to wish that he'd survived?" Serena wondered.  

Olivia seemed to think before answering.  "Would a trial have brought you a better sense of closure?"  

Serena wished she could get a straight answer.  "I don't know.  I think so.  I just…never felt like I regained control of my life before he died."

"And you feel robbed of that opportunity," Olivia deduced.

"Something like that."  Serena hastened to add, "But I don't blame you."

"It's okay if you do," said Olivia.  "Sometimes people need to focus their frustration to help them move on."

"I do not blame you," Serena repeated emphatically.  "Thank you for saving my life.  And Jack's," she added with a small smile.

Olivia waved a hand casually, trying to make light of the situation.  "It costs the city money to train replacements."

"Then you have the thanks of a grateful city.  Either way, you should let me buy you a drink," said Serena.

"And here I thought I was going to be doing the buying."  Olivia got up, plucked Serena's black overcoat from the coat rack, held it out to the ADA.  "You're not still taking those painkillers, are you?"

"There's really not that much pain to kill anymore," said Serena.  She turned off the light on her way out.


End file.
